


Swan song

by glassskins



Category: One Piece
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Handcuffs, M/M, Prostitution, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-28 22:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12616620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassskins/pseuds/glassskins
Summary: [Modern AU] A struggling addict, to most kinds of self-destructive behaviours, Law scrounges for money to pay off drug therapy bills and owed debts by prostituting himself. An orphan who lost his family, and later his guardian, Corazon, in his youth, to a tragic accident and a brutal murder, respectively, succumbing to his demons, Law made the wrong choices that led him down a darker path, astray. His only friend, that he keeps in contact with, is Kid, his orphanage roommate, who he shares a small apartment with and partners up with for freelance jobs as associates to an underworld gang. One of their jobs takes them to a certain man’s mansion. That man is Joker and, enraged, he wants back what they stole from him. Soon, Law receives a surprise new client, one with food stuck in their beard. (Please take note of trigger warnings in tags. Please tell me if there’s something I’ve forgotten to tag. Tagged warnings will change when more chapters are added in future.)





	Swan song

**Author's Note:**

> Non-con warning only for the act of autoerotic asphyxiation.  
> In this chapter: Vergo/Law

**A New Client**

He pretended he was a lone cowboy, riding a wild stallion toward the rich golden hues of the sunset above the horizon, riding away from all his problems, from life, riding away into eternal bliss. The wind sweeps off his hat, gently caresses his hair, cool and refreshing against the sheen of sweat glistening on his tanned skin. He takes in a deep breath and savours the fresh air of fleeting freedom. May the sun’s blazing rays consume him whole, incinerate his flesh and bone to ashes and dust. Further away from civilisation, past lush greenery and fields, through dense forests, surrounded by the merry chirps of delightful birds, along the crystal clear lakes and meandering rivers, into the vast, barren desert… never again to be seen, not in this lifetime—

Instead, cooped up indoors in a dingy hotel, abusing a rickety bed in a crummy room, he rode with practised thrusts of his hips to the sickening rhythm of a duet of filthy moans, both his own, deviously exaggerated, and the fervent yet distasteful moans of his client, a flabby, crusty geezer with greying hair and leathery wrinkles. With little else to concentrate on, nothing but dull torn wallpaper and ugly floral bedspreads, he focused only on the pleasure derived, blocked out all his invasive thoughts. One hand stroking off his hardened length, he stared at the twisted look of perverseness on his client’s face, though his own eyes were glazed over in jadedness. Thankfully, the air-conditioning, loud as a train running by, helped drown out some of their lewd noises. No matter the tenth or hundredth client, despite the power he relished, from succeeding in bringing his clients to orgasm, once, twice, multiple times, their moans would never be music to his ears.

Past the twentieth client, he stopped counting. It was all the same, anyway. He remembered little of their ejaculations, their moans, the pain, as he demeaned himself and succumbed to debauchery. Experiences across the weeks, pleasant or otherwise, blurred into non-existence — he buried deep in the recesses of his mind. However, while he had an addictive nature, to most things, the sex was just easy money. Short of robbing the bank, burgling innocent families, and risking arrest, slaving away and surviving on regular wages at convenience stores, fast food chains, retail jobs, as his livelihood? Not as a druggie post-recovery — stumbling through the recovery phase. Bills needed to be paid; expenses stacked to insurmountable digits. On the other hand, he could afford a week’s supply of methadone from a few days’ of sleeping around. Somewhere along the way, it became a norm, selling himself out on the streets, to any Tom, Dick, and Harry that could afford it. As long as they paid, he could put up with any creative use of withering insults thrown his way. Naturally, his pimp screened the clients and there were rules enforced and limits they were strictly warned against crossing. Yet, ultimately, the customer was always king.

In his distraction, he remained unaware of keys jangling outside the door, followed by a click of the lock. Realisation struck him that they had company only at the creaking of the door as it was pushed open. Into the room, padded two pairs of boots over the worn carpeting. Regardless, Law kept his gaze fixed on his client, whose facial contortions suggested he was close to climaxing. Law paused neither in his thrusts nor his pumping motions, greeting neither of their guests with his attention. He did, however, throw a blanket over his client’s face to protect his identity. Of course, his unfazed manner could be credited to his knowledge that only he and his pimp would have access to the keys to the room. Generally, his pimp was not supposed to enter during a session, which meant… More clients? Law couldn’t help a flicker of irritation that passed across his expression. It was not unusual for clients to book an orgy, but he would always be consulted in advance, never with it sprung on him by surprise. Moreover, he was almost done. If the other joker was that late, tough luck. No refunds.

“—Eh, you were with someone?” questioned the pimp, his tone accusatory. His brows furrowed in confusion over his pasty face.

Law chose not to waste his breath on the obvious. Did it look like he was fucking himself on a Sybian? Surely the client’s incessant moans ought to be the greatest fucking telltale clue? He kept his pace before speeding up and clenching around the cock he rode. His only response to the pimp was a long, dragged-out moan as he pumped himself harder, his face growing noticeably flushed even under the dim lighting.

“Must be some sorta mixup,” the pimp suggested. He scrolled through his phone to check his messages. “Guy here’s booked for this time—” the pimp quirked his brow upon glimpsing the grey patch of hair on the supine client — “and I’d reckon they’re not together.”

Since it was apparent his intruding guests intended to stay put until they received a satisfactory explanation, Law slowed down, eliciting a disappointed groan from the client. Nevertheless, Law gave the other guy a cursory glance. A tall, fair-skinned dude, approximately mid-thirties, broad-chested, chiselled jaw accompanying a neat buzz cut, military posture with dark sunglasses over a stern, no-nonsense expression. Peculiar was the guy’s zigzag sideburns. His crisp dark suit suggested a fat wallet. However, the guy seemed more like the bodyguard of some high-flying bigwig than the typical cheap clientele he received. Not that he would complain… only the contrary.

Despite his habitual frown, Law’s eyes gleamed in anticipation of a large tip — in both senses of the word. Alas… “Mm—Am almost done here,” he panted. “What, d’you want me to stop and leave this poor sod hanging? I’ll take care of him after this.”

Unsure of how the mistake had happened but refusing to accept the blame, all the same, the pimp reproached, “Hey, man. I know the money’s tight, but this…” He shook his head in sharp disapproval. “This is unprofessional. Eh client confidentiality and everything, yeah. Happens again, you don’t get paid.” The pimp turned to the other guy with an apologetic look. He bowed slightly. “Can you wait? Says he’s finishing. Don’t worry, he’ll clean up.”

The other guy, Zigzag Sideburns, stood rigidly. Although he appeared intensely displeased, the corners of his mouth twitching, he nodded briefly and followed the pimp out without any dispute.

Following their departure, Law stole a glance at the bedside clock. Several minutes remained until the end of the hour — right on time as planned, had he not been interrupted. Regardless, seamlessly, he picked up where he had left off. He finished with Grey-and-Wrinkly as quickly as possible, rushed him to get dressed once he’d collected his payment — with a miserly tip that Law scowled at — before he called for housekeeping to change the sheets once Grey-and-Wrinkly had exited. Thereafter, Law hopped into the shower.

Over the splattering of the running water, busy scrubbing himself down thoroughly, Law was oblivious to the sounds of the door opening. Even if he had heard the noise, he would only have assumed it was housekeeping. How wrong he would be. In place of the hotel staff, Zigzag Sideburns snuck back into the room, his lone pair of boots treading stealthily across the carpeting.

With leather-gloved hands, he began to search quietly through the cupboards and drawers until he fished out Law’s mobile. As part of his intended manoeuvre, Zigzag Sideburns skilfully bypassed the phone’s security and installed a tracking spyware onto the device. He replaced the mobile in the pocket of the jeans where he had found it before he changed the sheets hastily and left as smoothly as he had entered.

Minutes later, towelling his hair dry, Law emerged fresh from his warm shower, suspecting nothing amiss. Without bothering with his clothes, he stepped toward the bed and texted the pimp that he was ready. The sheets looked straightened out and tucked in, thus, he figured housekeeping had come as per his request while he was in the shower. Soon after the pimp agreed to send Zigzag Sideburns up, knocks on the door pulled Law out of his short rest. He climbed off the bed and greeted Zigzag Sideburns with a hollow, obsequious smile.

“My apologies for the blunder and thank you for waiting around.” Law attempted to affect sophistication in his tone. He opened the door wider and postured confidence like the foolish emperor who wore his birthday suit thinking he had on invincible clothes. But Law had decided long ago, he had no reason to be ashamed of a body he worked hard to maintain. Granted, he could use some meat over his lean muscle, especially to pad his ribs and hipbones a little. Nonetheless, he had received no complaints. On the overall, technique triumphed mere aesthetic appeal tenfold. And Law prided himself on his hard-earned expertise. After all, it was what differentiated him from the other twinks.

Zigzag Sideburns strode into the room after a brief hesitation. With his eyes shielded behind heavily-tinted sunglasses, his mood was near impossible to read. Down south, however, Law gave a faint arch of his brows at the small chunk of cookie stuck on the man’s beard. A messy eater, eh? Naturally, Law kept his quizzical observations to himself. He would not do well to insult his client before payment, especially not one who seemed of considerable wealth. Fuck, he would drop to his knees and worship his cock for a generous tip alone. Although, Zigzag Sideburns appeared, from what Law could gauge, a little tense. New to all this, perhaps? He did also look like someone who could snap him in two if he wished with his brawny arms.

Now, Zigzag Sideburns was a rare client. Not like the usual fat slobs who couldn’t even practise self-discipline but someone he could appreciate and admire as eye candy; someone he wouldn’t have minded fucking for free. Of course, he needed to make a living from this and hence no discounts could be given even to those he deemed attractive. This guy… he would suck him dry for his money. Before all that — Law swallowed his eagerness and fixed an impassive expression — he stated his terms and conditions, rules and regulations, all the boring but necessary information, yadda yadda yadda, that he had to recite for every client.

Once he’d covered everything, he locked the door and gave Zigzag Sideburns a lingering half-lidded sidelong glance and a faint lascivious smile. His fingers brushed up the length of Zigzag Sideburns’ thigh purposefully as he passed him by and sauntered to the bed to climb over the duvet. On his hands and knees, with slow, deliberate moves, he arched his back slightly and presented his ass before he settled down against the headboard, double pillows propped under his back. He grabbed a bottle of lube from the bedside table and then he spread his legs wide.

Zigzag Sideburns had his lips mildly pressed together throughout the entire show. He could have fallen asleep while standing upright and Law would not have been the wiser. Still, Law took his silence as an affirmative acknowledgement of the conditions announced. Admittedly, Zigzag Sideburns’ taciturn and aloof demeanour could be interpreted as either agreement or disagreement. It was kind of a glass half-empty or half-full situation.

“How d’you want me?” Law purred. “Doggie style? Missionary?” He uncapped the bottle and squeezed out a dollop of lube onto his palm. A man like Zigzag would hardly bottom for a nobody like him. Of course, he could be mistaken, but until corrected, Law coated the familiar viscous substance over his fingers and slid one into his ass. Within seconds, he added another and fingered himself naughtily for Zigzag’s viewing pleasure. “This is a judgment-free zone,” Law prompted coolly. “Whatever happens in this room, stays in this room. Your identity out there’s none of my concern… If you’ve any other creative options, let’s hear them. Against the window? On the floor?”

Zigzag finally moved. First his fingers, and then his arms. With absolute care and refinement, he peeled off his jacket, folded it in half, and draped it over an armchair. His hands deftly removed his belt. For a second, he held his belt outstretched in both hands and Law felt his pulse accelerate in expectation of a punishing belting. Law forced a tight smile and refused to let it waver. Kid would explode in a fit of anger if he glimpsed the marks later but truly, Law would only welcome the pain (he would not outright proclaim himself addicted to physical pain, but he could relish it all the same). He charged extra for that, obviously. He was no fool to let such an opportunity pass him by. The challenge would be to keep from screaming. Although his cries would only gratify and thrill Zigzag, no doubt, the last thing he wanted was for their neighbours to call the police under the impression that a murder was taking place. Were that to happen, who would pay for his time wasted? Moreover, he did not need another arrest on his record.

Alas, Law’s face fell with a tinge of disappointment when Zigzag tossed the belt aside. Instead, from the pocket of his jacket, Zigzag dug out two pairs of handcuffs and Law raised his brows, intrigued, nonetheless — perhaps even more so. Zigzag placed the handcuffs on the foot of the mattress before he took a step back. Gingerly, Zigzag undressed the rest of his clothes and folded them neatly onto the chair. By then, Law had paused in his fingering to sweep an admiring gaze over Zigzag’s Herculean physique and his impressive physical endowments. Zigzag’s torso was finely sculpted both like a deity and yet also a pornographic actor. It was a body that took hours of daily upkeep and a strict diet. Despite the flaccid state of Zigzag’s member, a flicker of nervous excitement stirred within Law’s gut. He needed Zigzag inside him already, but first —

“Keys? I need to see the keys first,” Law said, his tone firm. He had to be certain, to take preventive measures against unnecessary, avoidable repercussions. While he could rely on housekeeping to find him sometime eventually the next day, they, too, would be unable to free him from the restraints and God forbid they charged him another night since he was occupying the room, even without intention.

“And it’ll be additional if I’m cuffed, unless those are for you?” Law tilted his head to the side and stared with cheeky amusement dancing in his eyes. He whispered, “Kinky.” His fingers slowly curled around and teased along the length of his member. “So are we doing this the other way round? Can’t read minds so… Give me some sign?” Truthfully, he would greatly relish it either way. A hunk like Zigzag kneeling before him? Surrendering his soul and relinquishing control? Sublime. He would command him like a dog and make him roll over, crawl around the room on all fours, bark, whine, beg, perhaps even with his belt as a leash or makeshift collar, or for a good lashing if he misbehaved. He would adorn his skin with multiple streaks of red.

Indeed, Law fancied both roles. He trained his versatility to cater to various clientele. The masochists, the sadists, the sadomasochists, he would accept them all with open arms, without scorn, without judgment, no matter their wishes or demands, however depraved. Where money was concerned, how could he be nitpicky? They wanted him to roleplay a slave? Jolly good. Did they need him to discipline them for their flaws and faults? Delightedly. There was nothing he frowned at or took an intense aversion to. Of course, he drew the line at paraphilia like coprophilia, which he thought was just shitty and distasteful, and recordings of their sessions were absolutely forbidden. Otherwise, to conquer the strong competition among others of the same profession, he had to open himself up, literally and figuratively, to exploring trials beyond his comfort zone.

Zigzag uttered his first word since their initial meeting, disproving himself mute. “Here.” His voice was completely devoid of emotion, sounding programmed like a computer. Even GPS systems were recorded with more upbeat tones. There was, however, a trace of an authoritative air that suggested non-compliance would irk him plenty. “They’re for you. Put them on, one on each wrist.” Zigzag didn’t bother asking if Law had any qualms about being restrained. He reached for the cuffs and chucked both pairs and a ring of keys at Law.

Law tested that the keys could unlock the cuffs before he nodded and smiled unaffectedly. “Fine by me.” Without hesitation, he threw the keys onto the bedside table and proceeded to cuff each of his wrists separately. “…And?”

If Zigzag was pleased by Law’s prompt compliance, his solemn statue face conveyed none of his appreciation. Despite undressing completely, Zigzag kept his sunglasses on. Law would have guessed that Zigzag either wanted his identity undiscovered or he was blind — which would be interesting, except Zigzag moved with sheer confidence, with predatory smoothness, toward the bed. Had Law not witnessed Zigzag’s feet coming into contact with the floor, he would have thought Zigzag had glided over on rollerblades.

Law relaxed against the pillows. He did not flinch even when Zigzag eased himself onto the bed and the mattress dipped and the springs whined under his weight. Zigzag’s husky build alone should have provoked fear in most folks, but after the unfortunate circumstances he’d survived, Law couldn’t muster anything but a pure zestful spirit to any instance of a threat.

Without further ado, Zigzag slid closer. One by one, he seized each pair of handcuffs and secured them to opposite ends of the bed frame. He made sure to strain Law’s arms taut, as far as he could reach, evoking a brief wince from Law at the uncomfortable tension forced on his arms. Undoubtedly, any twisting or struggling motions could easily dislocate his shoulders or rip his arms from their sockets, the risk of which, alone, would encourage most to behave. Ignoring Law’s frown, Zigzag double-checked the cuffs and tightened them around Law’s wrists until they were met with the resistance of bone and dug harshly into his skin. Within seconds, a dull ache spread through his arms, similar to the discomforting sensation a stiff old man would experience while forcing a wide split. Regardless, unless the rickety bed actually broke apart, he figured he might as well try to get used to it.

In an attempt to distract himself, Law’s eyes flicked up to Zigzag’s face. He glimpsed his reflection in Zigzag’s sunglasses and he grimaced faintly at the distasteful look of unease etched in his own features. Hurriedly, Law plastered a smile, half to reassure himself, half to erase all traces of laughable worry. He stared instead at the cookie stuck in Zigzag’s beard, his eyes trailing over Zigzag’s lips… Zigzag had yet to reveal himself capable of any other emotion and Law could not help but wonder… What would Zigzag’s orgasm face be like? Could he arouse moans and groans out of a reserved brute like Zigzag? Law decided on the spot he would make it his goal that night to inspire lust and pleasure in Zigzag so great that his grim facade would shatter into oblivion, replaced by the same look of twisted perverseness in all his clients.

Surprisingly, having that objective abated his unsettlement. Law tilted his head back and shifted slightly on the mattress, inadvertently pulling on the restraints. He was rewarded by a flash of pain before he grew still. Instead, he opted to scoot back against the headboard. He spread his legs to the sides and drew his knees toward his chest.

Zigzag hovered darkly over Law. He grabbed Law’s knees and shoved them far back. Luckily for Law, he was more flexible in his lower half. He settled into position without much difficulty just as, with a soft squelch, Zigzag plunged three fingers knuckle-deep into his ass. Law gasped in surprise and tensed up a little before he urged himself to relax with his breaths. Regardless, coldly, Zigzag pressed his other hand insistently to Law’s mouth. Law parted his lips unresistingly and sucked on Zigzag’s fingers with extra avidity. From the brusque manner of which Zigzag finger fucked his ass, with scissoring motions alternating with the curling of his fingers, Law considered it a forewarning of a rough session that would soon follow. Perhaps it was even that knowledge alone that caused his dick to swell with desire. Disregarding the mild dryness from the lack of lubricant used, while his erection twitched over his stomach, he matched Zigzag’s motions with eager thrusts of his own hips, not forgetting to moan around Zigzag’s fingers at regular intervals.

He began to lose himself entirely in the act, when Zigzag pulled away suddenly and a genuine groan was torn from his throat. For a split second, it might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn that a brief smirk flickered over Zigzag’s face. By then, Zigzag’s member had hardened impressively, and possibly even a tad dauntingly. Nevertheless, Law licked his lips and fixed Zigzag a coquettish gaze as Zigzag moved away momentarily. Zigzag lubed up his erection and, if there was ever a need for a small consolation, Zigzag abided by his rule and stretched a condom over himself, although he had left the bottle of lube unattended to by the side of the pillow. Law gradually uncurled his fingers. ‘Lube’s free, you know; I’m not charging you for that,’ he would have said, except he would hate to sound like a sissy so he kept his mouth shut. Granted, rationally, being badly hurt would put him out of work for days but it was one of the things he remained inexplicably stubborn about and adamant in his ways.

Law’s heart was racing when Zigzag rejoined him on the bed. Law’s eyes glowed and he said cheekily, “Are we roleplaying cops and robbers? Hmm… Suppose I have behaved unlawfully… And just what are you gonna do about that, huh, officer?” He cringed inwardly at his own words, but nonetheless, Zigzag stared at him quietly with a look that Law presumed was tinged with want.

“…Deliver your due punishment,” intoned Zigzag. And then he actually cracked a fleeting half-smile before he lunged and grasped the back of Law’s thighs. Zigzag held him down firmly in place with excessive strength as if he could flee or escape anywhere magically from the cuffs. Law’s only warning was the clenching of Zigzag’s fingers a split second before Zigzag rammed his erection into him with a powerful thrust.

Law groaned before he clamped his lips tight. He jerked away slightly but there was really no place else to run. Zigzag, completely unsympathetic, gripped his thighs harder and commenced an unrelenting succession of thrusts that Law could only grit his teeth through and bear with. Zigzag was a little much, but at the rate they were progressing, he figured in a matter of time he would be loosened enough to accommodate his girth comfortably. It went without saying that he would have preferred having his face pushed against the mattress but evidently, Zigzag wished to observe and enjoy his expressions while he fucked him raw.

While Zigzag pounded assertively into him with feral thrusts, over the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, Law allowed his thoughts to drift — at least, he tried to imagine himself a cowboy once again, but cowboys did not ride horses on their backs facing skyward. Thus, Law tried to look everywhere but in Zigzag’s face. He couldn’t explain it, but it was a little disconcerting watching himself in Zigzag’s sunglasses, staring at the tinted shades, without being able to discern Zigzag’s expression. And yet Zigzag could clearly see his. Shit, he didn’t look unsettled, did he? He was not. There had been initial, momentary panic but now, he was fine—

Until Zigzag’s iron-like grip clamped down on his neck. Squeezed. Throttled.

Law’s eyes bulged. He darted a flustered glance at Zigzag. Law gasped. His fists clenched and jerked in vain. The chains of the handcuffs only rattled fruitlessly against the bed frame, taunting his helpless plight. Gripped with fear, his heart palpitated. Alarm flooded his face, cracking his bravado and composure. Law thrashed. More like, he only managed to squirm… weakly, to Zigzag’s concealed delight.

Law whimpered. Zigzag must have sensed his trepidation. The heavy and unwavering pressure on his throat intensified. In speed and force, the thrusts escalated with thunderous vehemence. He was going to die. In such a mortifying manner. They would find him, goggle-eyed, stark-naked; God forbid he ejaculated regardless. The bed creaked but all Law heard, his frantic heartbeat thrashing in his ears. Every second felt like a minute. His head would explode.

“S-Stop,” Law rasped, his voice tremulous. Rock-hard dread settled in the pits of his stomach. His eyes pleaded, words he could not gasp. He arched his back. He writhed. He must have tightened around Zigzag’s erection for Zigzag actually groaned. Loud. Impassioned.

And Law, in spite of the cruel torment, his own erection throbbed with life. Amidst the fear of dying, a sense of euphoria trickled in. Adrenaline coursed through his blood. Eventually, Law, to his surprise, found a calmness within. He grew slack under Zigzag's uncompromising weight. Death; why should he fight death? Not like this, it could not end. Still, what else…

His vision blurred. He fought to cling on to his consciousness, but was it not a fool’s hope…?

Just when he was on the brink of fading away, the grip around his neck relented.

For a second, Law laid still in shock. Then he gasped. He coughed, shoulders trembling, lips quivering, his brow shiny with sweat. He remained numb and unmoving. Gradually, the dizziness and the shock diminished. Several minutes passed before Law was able to pull himself back together and regain his senses fully. Once his fear dissipated, anger flared up in its place. Fingers twitching, Law glared at Zigzag with all his remaining strength. He tried to affect the fierceness of a tiger but his face betrayed his intention with the pathetic look of a pardoned prey, given another chance to live, to prolong the hunt and the chase. In other words, he was at Zigzag’s mercy, even while the immediate danger had vanished.

“Un—Undo the cuffs,” Law croaked, his voice shaky and hoarse. A really bad day, he just wanted it instantly over, preferably with him not six feet under. Yet, he could not bring himself to utter a ‘please’ or beg any further.

“Hmm…” Zigzag stared down at Law. He seemed to contemplate leaving Law restrained for the housekeeping to stumble upon him but in the end, he shifted over the bed and snatched the keys. Promptly, without needing further convincing, Zigzag freed Law from the handcuffs. He collected them back and marched across the room. Zigzag stole a glance at the clock before he started to dress hastily.

Languidly, Law retracted his sore arms and eased himself to sit up. Still feeling faint, he propped his back against the headboard and outstretched his legs slowly. He rubbed his neck gingerly and glanced down at himself to survey for any damage. At the sight of the mess of bodily fluids, Law scowled. His chest had been splotched with come. Traces of blood stained the bedsheets where he had laid. Zigzag had apparently achieved a lot in the short spell that Law had been struggling for breath. Zigzag had pulled out and removed the condom. Thereupon he had shot his load all over Law’s chest. As Law had predicted, he, too, had ejaculated over his stomach. Good thing he had not died.

By the time Law dragged himself to his feet and half-hobbled, half-trudged across the room, Zigzag had donned his dark suit and looked no different than he had when he’d first entered with the pimp. His heart still pounding in his chest, Law convinced himself it was merely from the exhilaration, the highs post-ejaculation. He was not terrified. How could he be? Utter bull. Either way, it had lasted only a short while… Whatever the suffering, it would be worth the money, every single dollar.

“Next time… Give me a fucking warning. I’d appreciate such rough play being discussed beforehand a—”

“Are you done?” Zigzag said apathetically. He pulled out his wallet, counted some bills, and left them on the table.

“No. For what you did, that’ll be extr—”

Law caught the movement of Zigzag’s fist too late. He glimpsed a blur of motion before a sharp surge of pain exploded across his ribs. Law reeled back and crashed into the wall.

“You were not that good,” Zigzag explained coolly. “I have paid only what you are worth… I’ll be in touch.” Zigzag glanced down at his dirtied fist and scrunched up his face slightly. While Law scrambled to his feet and clutched his chest and glowered like a defensive mutt, Zigzag washed his hands thoroughly and dried them on a bath towel. Without another word, Zigzag opened the door and disappeared from Law’s sight. Law counted several minutes after Zigzag had left before he cupped a hand over his mouth. Law tottered over to the door and locked it. He dragged himself back to the bed and spent an hour lying down with the filth on his chest before he managed to get up. Wincing, Law made his way into the bathroom and his eyes narrowed at the prominent bruises decorating his neck. Just great. Nevertheless, it was getting late and thus, Law stepped into the shower to scrub himself clean.

It took him double the usual amount of time. When he pulled back the shower curtains, the bathroom had been turned into a sauna, the mirror had been entirely fogged, and his skin was flushed from the prolonged hot shower. Law dressed in his clothes mechanically. He tightened the drawstrings of his hoodie to cover up the bruises, checked and double-checked that they were invisible before he palmed the bills, counted them, scowled bitterly, though he stuffed them into his wallet nonetheless. Overcome with a sudden inexplicable stifling sensation, in his desperation for fresh air, Law bolted from the room, down the stairs five storeys, ignoring any lingering pain of his body. He emerged on the street and inhaled deep gulps of the cool night air before he strode away from the hotel.

Several blocks down, Law dug out his phone. The battery percentage seemed to have dwindled drastically despite the power saving mode being turned on and the lack of usage over the past few hours. Still, in his exhaustion, Law neither questioned nor suspected any tampering had been done with his phone. Perhaps he had remembered the numbers wrong. Shrugging it off, Law brought up his inbox. He typed out a message to the pimp, explaining what had happened before he hit the delete button and cleared the text field. It… It was a small matter. Ultimately, no harm was done. There was no need to report this and kick up a fuss. The money wasn’t that bad. It was pretty decent for a wealthy client. Besides, he was responsible for allowing the handcuffs…

~

To: Pimp  
[Text]: Where the fuck did you find that guy

From: Pimp  
[Text]: Eh you done?  
[Text]: That’s fast. And dunno. I don’t recall ever booking him a session.  
[Text]: His name was in the schedule but yeah I never seen him before.  
[Text]: Could be I screened him and forgot? Dunno. How else did his name get in my phone?

From: Kid  
[Text]: I cooked asshole  
[Text]: You better be back for dinner

To: Kid  
[Text]: Omw…

**Author's Note:**

> I accept all kinds of critique and suggestions for improvement. For instance, was this too draggy?  
> Please note: I do not support or commend any of the stuff mentioned in this work of fiction. I definitely do not recommend trying breathplay or autoerotic asphyxiation.


End file.
